


Interim: Clear

by Harukami



Series: Interim [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harukami/pseuds/Harukami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoba and Clear, in that one year and one month.</p><p>At this point I'm intending to do a vignette for each of the characters for that timeskip moment at the end of each routes. /o/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interim: Clear

In time, Aoba has to move. He feels Clear slide from his body and shudders as a fresh wave of nauseating tears comes over him, but he's spent, spent more completely than he's ever imagined being in his life. It barely feels like he's alive, but he's the one who's moving around and Clear isn't, so that's how it is.

He needs to get away for a few moments. Even as he steps back, aching leg muscles trembling, he feels anxiety take him, like if he's apart from Clear, Clear's body will continue to decay -- it shouldn't, he's shut down now, but what if? -- and he might come back to find nothing there, have nothing left to save. Intellectually, he knows there's nothing to be done about it if that's the case. Even if he stays here, that would happen, even if he carries Clear back, that just means Clear would crumble as he did so. And Clear is no longer 'here' for him to stay with regardless.

So he goes, fighting grief and anxiety and nausea, and cleans himself up. Come is dripping down his leg and he curses silently to himself, choking on tears, as he cleans it up. He's dirty, he's messy, but it feels like he's throwing out something valuable regardless. But he has to clean up and get home. There are fragments of skin in his hair where Clear had been holding it, petting him. There's blood-like oil smeared all over his body. He has to get clean and get home.

He gathers clean cloths from the bathroom, fills cups and bowls with water, and takes them back down to Clear's body. Clear is in the same condition which Aoba had left him in, both a relief and a sad testament to the fact that he was no longer functioning even enough to drive his own destruction. Aoba cleans him up, wipes him down carefully, trembling and making no sound except his painful wet breaths as he accidentally shreds more skin from Clear's body. 

Aoba closes the eye he can, on Clear, but the other, with no skin to cover it, keeps staring blindly up.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "Clear."

Then he wraps Clear in a blanket -- more skin will come off when they move, but there's no help for that, and better get him back unnoticed, undiscovered. A heavy burden, he hoists the blanketed bundle onto his back, and leaves. In the chaos of Oval Tower's collapse, nobody pays him any mind regardless.

He doesn't go back the way he came; he knows the others will be waiting for him, waiting to see what happened to him, waiting to see that he's okay. Especially after the collapse of the tower. He's already had to put his Coil on silent with the amount Koujaku's calling him. Even Granny does. But he can't right now. He makes it home through an alternate route, leaves Clear around the side for now as he greets Granny. He says he's tired, makes every excuse. She's worried for him, searches his face, but leaves him be, and he sneaks out that night -- terrified that Clear has been stolen, but unable to take him in and explain things to Granny at all -- and takes his bundled form up from the garden into his room, unbundles him.

He's still smiling the way he had been when his consciousness faded. Peaceful and joyous. Aoba lets out another sob, doubles over, presses his lips to that smiling mouth.

"Come back," he breathes, "Clear."

But Clear doesn't, and Aoba crumples.

*

Clear becomes aware three or so months into proper repair, but is unable to interface with his body. He floats instead, detached from physical reality, and thinks of Aoba-san. Aoba-san must be out there right now. He thinks of the time they spent together. They'd spent their last moments drilling the reality of their love into each other so they'd never forget; Clear doesn't forget. Even when the researchers, speaking above him, wonder if he'll be able to regain his memory after 98% damage to his brain circuit, he almost wants to laugh.

It's impossible to forget. The feel of Aoba-san's body under his hands, Aoba-san's body on him, the sound of Aoba-san's wet breaths, the sight of his flushed cheeks dripping with tears, those golden-brown eyes wet and wide and hurting. It's the only thing that stays with him until they repair things further, but it's enough. He's not alone. Aoba-san is 'with' him, even if Aoba-san isn't at his side.

He wants to be at his side. If only he could move his legs -- it's probably just as well that his physical reality is disconnected from his mental reality, he knows; he would get up and leave right away, however unrepaired he still was, some hideous machine-monster walking through the city, skinless and dragging semi-detached parts, because the idea of staying away from Aoba-san's side longer than he has to is unbearable.

The fact he isn't 'conscious' doesn't matter. Aoba-san has called him back from unconsciousness before. As long as it's for Aoba-san, he doesn't need to wait for anyone else to activate him. They don't control his reality; Aoba-san does.

Soon. He tries to send it to Aoba-san through the air, through the currents that run through the city, even knowing it won't go anywhere. Once they've repaired his body far enough for his mental circuit to be implanted back into it, he will come.

So he sings to himself silently, and thinks of Aoba-san, and waits for the slow, delicate work to continue.

_Wait for me. Wait for me, Aoba-san._

_I'm coming._


End file.
